


This Here is Not Singing

by Caseys_Crying



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, It will be cute I swear, M/M, Sad boi, a lil angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caseys_Crying/pseuds/Caseys_Crying
Summary: Jaskier was finally ready to confess to Geralt. Despite Geralt loving Yennefer and never even giving Jaskier a hint that his feelings would be returned Jaskier just felt it was time. Jaskier wrote his feeling into song and then they went on the dragon hunt. It halted the plans, but it should've been nothing more than a stop along the way. Then Geralt told Jaskier how much he really wanted him gone. Jaskier descended the mountain alone and wandered alone to a small town South of Soddom, where he tried to drown his sorrows in ale and song. Following the pain however, Jaskier went to the town marketplace and ran into a particularly disheveled Lion Cub of Cintra.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	This Here is Not Singing

_“Emotionless, they often call you_   
_But your love is warm, true and bright_   
_You steal all my reason_   
_Commit every treason_   
_Of logic, with naught but a look_

_My love’s rising like the moon in the sky_   
_Of longing and friendship and trust_   
_After all this time_   
_You’re still by my side_   
_So tell me, love, tell me, love_   
_How is that just?_

_But the story is this_   
_You saved me with your sweetness_   
_Your sweetness_   
_But the story is this_   
_You’d save me with a sweet kiss._

_Your goodness is pulling me closer,_   
_And making my heart beat so strong_   
_The bright moon at night has given a signal to me_   
_That now is the time_   
_I’m here, my love and I am ready_   
_If this is the path I may trudge,_   
_I’ll welcome my sentence,_   
_Give to you my penance,_   
_Gorgeous Garroter, Jury and Judge.”_

That was the song Jaskier wanted to sing to Geralt. He was still working through the kinks, choosing between gorgeous and lovely to describe the witcher. Yet both seemed to fall short. He understood what he was doing. It was a big step, a leap in their relationship. But suddenly he knew it was time to do it. Geralt loved Yennefer, and had never explicitly said any words to hint at any kind of affection for Jaskier, and yet, it was time. It was one night during their travels, weeks before the dragon hunt, under the starry sky and a full moon. Jaskier couldn’t fall asleep. He remained awake even after the fire’d gone out on a perfect night in the woods, not cold enough to chill, but not so warm that your clothes are stifling. His eyes looked across Geralt’s face, a face that, in so much contrast to it’s hardened public expression, had relaxed into a soft, restful one. Jaskier rolled to his side and looking longingly on at Geralt’s figure set aglow by the full moon above, and the feelings in his heart that have been growing steadily for 20 years, from back when Jaskier was still such a child, seemed to swell further. In a change as fast and strong as crashing tides on a rocky shore side, it hit, that it was time for Jaskier to confess. But he wasn’t one to do anything in a small way, and there was no way he was going to understate this love of his. He’d been writing the song ever since, just trying to get the words right, to make sure that Geralt would get it, but it could still leave the witcher at least a little astounded. That’s what Jaskier hoped for. Understanding and awe. But that was before the dragon hunt. Before Geralt followed back to Yennefer like a puppy that hadn’t been whipped enough to recognize its abuser. Before Geralt and Yennefer hurt each other again, even worse than they ever had before. Before Geralt took Jaskier’s heart in his calloused hands and ripped it to bits in the sheer frustration of it all.

It had been days since Jaskier last saw Geralt. It hurt so much more than he could’ve expected it to. They’d gone months and years apart, but this time it was so much more painful. Maybe it’s because the other times they split it was on good terms. Every other time it was a delightfully, bittersweet exchange after a particularly big battle. With both of them beaten, bruised, and bandaged, Jaskier would say “I’ll see you at the next one” and sometimes even a smile from the so often stoic witcher would crack through.

But this time was not like those from before. It wasn’t even a goodbye, it was barely an exchange. It was Geralt, screaming, at the top of a mountain with words that hit Jaskier too hard. It was Geralt, blaming Jaskier for every unfortunate twist of fate they’d met together. It was Geralt, telling Jaskier to leave like he never wanted him by his side at all.

And Jaskier took it. It hurt so much, but he took the words and shoved down the tears rising at the bottom of his throat and walked away. He walked away and spent the following unusually quiet night staring up at the dark sky, just waiting for Geralt to pass by to head down the mountain path. He would be there for Geralt when he was ready to move past the events of the mountaintop, Jaskier would pop up, and give Geralt whatever he wanted even if it was more silence. But Geralt never passed. The next morning Jaskier went back to where he’d left Geralt, only to see the witcher gone. He left. Geralt left Jaskier sometime in the dead of night, as quiet as a mouse and intentionally avoided him. That hit harder than the words. Jaskier knew Geralt was bad with words, he would say things he doesn’t mean and he wouldn’t say the things he meant the most. But abandoning Jaskier, on top of it all, that sent Jaskier’s stomach bubbling and twisting until hot, angry tears ran down the bard’s cheeks. Jaskier was furious, hurt, and betrayed. Every hurtful comment that Geralt had ever flung at Jaskier swirled through his head again. The ones that seemed to be just cold humor at the time were now laced with venom in a voice he’d only heard Geralt use with monsters mid battle. Jaskier didn’t regret the time they’d spent together, but it had taken him years to understand Geralt. He knew that so often Geralt would push away others while he licked his wounds. He probably didn’t like looking weak in front of others and it was now starkly clear that Geralt still considered Jaskier one of the “others”.

Jaskier walked down the mountain and ended up in a new town just south of Soddom. In the lull of ale and loud bar conversations, Jaskier sat at a table in a musky tavern, but he didn’t know what to sing. He always loved a new town and the new audience it held. His reputation usually preceded him, the Witcher Geralt of Rivia’s Bard, but even still, it was a new audience to amaze for the first time. Yet every song about Geralt hurt now. Every lyric he’d written in the witcher’s praise pricked at his throat like needles, as if they were forbidden words that Jaskier no longer had the right to sing. So when he needed to sing, to keep him busy and moving, to make more money for his room, to get the words tumbling around in his head out in the open, he stood and did the only song he could think of. The newest, but he made it more real.

"The fairer sex, they often call it..."

He twisted the ballad he’d wanted to perform for Geralt and plugged in the new feelings he was fighting back. He was no longer just singing, he was screaming into the tavern. Lines that were once meant to explain love became criticisms of the damned fairy tale he’d been watching for the past 7 years since the Djinn. The rhymes now told of the pain and misery he bore witness to as Yennefer and Geralt hurt each other over and over again every time they met. He staggered and aggressively spun around the tavern of drunks and now silent onlookers. He’d quite successfully roped them all into his torturous love life. After the song was over and the bar seemed to almost ring with the absence of chatter and noise, Jaskier felt the all too familiar bubbling of rage, and pain, and heartache in the pit of his stomach. He accepted the coin thrown to him with all the grace he could keep up while urging down the tears that were clawing at his eyes. Jaskier ran back up to his room and fell apart the second the door behind him closed. Singing the words made them all real. While the feelings once just sat in his mind, they were now out in the open. People knew the song and people knew the words his heart ached to scream in Geralt’s face. In a ball of fury and hurt, Jaskier slumped against the door with a lute and sack of gold coin, Jaskier wanted to scream, yet felt like he couldn’t make a noise. For what felt like the first time in Jaskier’s life, his vocal cords wouldn’t budge. Jaskier was rendered mute, silently sobbing until his throat felt raw and his eyes stung and while feeling the grief from a dead friendship. In the misery of it all, he escaped to the only place he could and fell asleep right there on the floor.

When Jaskier closed his eyes, he was free from the pain in the real world. He could crawl and hide in his dreams of magic, monsters, and myth. He’d run around in a blaze of adventure by Geralt’s side. He’d tell idiotic jokes and revel in songs about Geralt’s great tales. In his dream, it was all so perfect. They weren’t in love, but in the dream, Jaskier didn’t love Geralt like that and it was so much easier. In his dream, they could simply be best friends. They had their own families and as they age they’d be neighbors in some small town far away from the monsters and wars. They could wave goodbye to their families once a month and go away on week-long adventures before returning to the cottages that housed their wives and kids. Their children were best friends and they’d run around the yards and the city like there was nothing that could hurt them. How easy it would be if the real world was like that. 

Jaskier woke up on the inn floor, back to the door with his lute cradled uncomfortably under his arm. His eyes blurred as he tried to look around the room, his throat hurt and any voice he tried to muster was raspy and pained. Jaskier stood up and fumbled into the bed with his lute and his coin. 

“More sleep. More sleep” He told himself. 

Sleeping felt better, being awake was what hurt.

Jaskier closes his eyes again to continue his fantasy. He’s hosting a big feast between the two families. His wife is cooking while his 3 kids jump around setting the large table between the giggles that erupt from their bellies. He wraps his arms around his wife, bending down to lean his head on her low shoulders as she finishes decorating the fruit plate. Jaskier places a kiss on his wife’s cheek before taking the plate and placing it on the dining room table. A loud thumping comes from the front door and Jaskier has to race his own kids to see who will get to open it. 

His eldest daughter, Asha, he seems to know, swings open the cottage door and yells,” Uncle Geralt!” 

Jaskier smiles, looking upon his children that he has raised as Geralt’s nieces and nephews. Geralt’s own kids have run into the room at lightning speed to play with them. The number of children grows from 3 to 8, Geralt, of course, would have a full and loud home bustling with loving chaos. Geralt’s oldest daughter was significantly older than the rest, Cici or Lily- or something like that- Jaskier wanted to call her. Geralt and his wife weaved between the kids playing in the common room to join the other parents in the dining area with some ale to drink with dinner. Jaskier smiled at Geralt and Geralt smiled back at him. It was a warm, knowing, tired and yet still so alive kind of smile with wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes, a smile Jaskier could only see in dreams. Because the real Geralt didn’t smile like that. 

And that thought hit like a punch. All too fast the dream was broken and Jaskier was shocked awake with the painful stinging of bile in the back of his throat. Tears pricked at his eyes as a hand shot to cover his mouth. His heart racing in his ears he cried and cried again. Was there no escaping this torture? No mercy any god could bestow to him. Just to forget, really forget it all would be a blessing. No ale or mead remedied the bard, alcohol just made it hurt worse. Sleeping felt better but it never lasted. He just wanted to feel better. 

Another day passed in a misty haze until Jaskier felt like he could no longer cry anymore. He stood up feeling drained of all emotion, all that remained were the bones of the pain and their dull beatings could be ignored long enough to eat and drink. Jaskier straightened himself up as best he could with what little motivation he clung to, and left his room in favor of the open outdoor market downtown. 

“Fresh air might do me good,” he told himself, needing to believe that something could provide relief. 

The marketplace had all kinds of odds and ends and still, nothing caught Jaskier’s eye. It felt like he was looking for something, and while he had no idea what it was, he was sure that he’d know it when he saw it. Jaskier found himself weaving in and out of stalls searching for an item to call out to him, something to give him a purpose, that’s when he saw it. Walking towards Jaskier’s direction, was a person. They were a short and thin figure hidden under a cyan-blue robe and hood that covered their face, but the pale white skin and hair Jaskier recognized in an instant. 

“Princess Cirilla” he whispered in shock.

The small girl in front of him flinched before fearfully looking up to meet his eyes with her own set of impossibly blue iris’. Just looking onto her beautiful face, a face that perfectly matched Geralt’s eldest child in Jaskier’s dream, sent him 14 years in the past. The night of Pavetta’s marriage. The night he saw destiny unfurl a man’s twisted fate as it was tied to Princess Pavetta’s. Between the music, the fighting, the magic, and the mayhem, a real wedding occurred between two people who actually loved each other and Duny, who bore a striking resemblance to a hedgehog, was given a normal human form seconds after Queen Calanthe blessed the union. They all discovered that same night that Pavetta was already carrying a child, and while Geralt never asked about his child surprise, Jaskier kept himself informed. The Princess gave birth to a baby girl named Cirilla. And shortly after Pavetta and Duny died, Calanthe raised the child as her own Lion Cub of Cintra. Nilfgarrd had battled Cintra days before and won, they overtook the city just afterward. Jaskier had assumed Geralt would’ve returned to Cintra to protect his child surprise after Borch urged him to do so. But Cirilla was alone now, her eyes were wide with terror and she quickly put her face down before replying something to the effect that he had the wrong girl while trying to run past him. 

Jaskier moved to stop her and said,” I’m sorry it’s just- You look just like your mother” in the softest, most gentle voice he had.

Cirilla stopped, now just a foot away from Jaskier before she brought herself to look back up at him. Since her mother and father’s deaths, no one spoke about them. Calanthe’s grief was legendary and no one dared to upset the Lioness of Cintra. Ciri was left in the dark, hoping she might resemble her mother or father, just the slightest bit she had wished when she was younger. Her eyes teared up and her fingers touched the place on her hand that used to hold her mother’s ring, the ring that she’d just given away in her desperation for new gloves. 

With a quiver in her voice, she asks in a voice so quiet Jaskier barely hears her,” You knew my mother?” 

The bard looks down on her, this child so rugged, worn, dirty and scared. She’s seen too much since the fall of Cintra, he doubts that she’s even had a good night’s sleep. Jaskier finds a warmth deep in his heart coming to the surface and he smiles bending down to her eye level to tell her,” Darling, I was there the night that she wed your father and found out she was expecting you. I’m Jaskier or Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but on occasion I’ve been called Buttercup...” Jaskier says, rambling through introductions.

But Ciri doesn’t hear him, all at once she’s feeling everything. The grief she never processed and pain she didn’t allow herself to feel for years. Calanthe’s death, Mousesack’s death, the loss of Cintra and all the people she used to know, the betrayal she felt from Dara, everything seeped from her very bones and she found herself crumbling into the arms of this man she didn’t know, who could very well sell her to Nilfgarrd. She let out a sob so loud and guttural she feels it shaking her empty stomach. 

Jaskier held the girl in his arms, not the reaction he was expecting or was really equipped to handle. But he sat down with her in the busy street, pulling her hood over her face and hair to protect her identity, and rubbing her back the way his mother used to rub his when he was young. He pulled her closer to his chest and whispered soft comforts into her ear to “let it all out” and “not to worry”. There wasn’t much a bard could do for her, he couldn’t give her kingdom back to her, he couldn’t raise the dead, but he could be there for her and so he would. As she starts to settle herself down again he picked her up and carried her to the tavern for food and drink, telling her his every move before he made it, hoping she found some comfort in the knowing before the happening. When they arrived at the tavern he found the most secluded booth and claimed it for the two of them, setting her down and ordering her some food while he continued to rub her back. Eventually, she was able to stop her crying and calm her breathing again while she ate and drank. Jaskier waited patiently, he had no idea what horrors she’d faced in the struggle to survive and she deserved some peace at the very least. When she was ready he took her back to the inn in which he was staying so she’d be safer away from preying eyes. 

He doesn’t ask, but she tells him of her journey since the fall of Cintra in painful detail. She explains the state of her grandmother when she returned from the battlefield, bloody and sweating as she told her to find Geralt of Rivia, that he was her destiny. She remembers the way that she watched Mousesack’s protection of the palace fall and how soon after she was ushered from the castle. How the man who was supposed to protect her, Lazlo, was shot right behind her on horseback, and how right afterward she was caught but she got away. The time after was spent running away from a Nilfgaardian soldier, abandoning her home, and discovering… she doesn’t even know what she discovered. She ran and ran, deep into the forests outside of the city, running around in the snow with the sound of Nilfgaard on her heels. She recounts rubbing mud in her hair, to try and hide it’s distinct color, meeting Dara for the first time as he helped her avoid poisonous berries, all the while mute. She describes the night she found a little encampment in the forest full of Cintrians who had escaped the invasion, the terrible things that were said about her grandmother. The raid that happened that night where she witnessed a Dwarf murder his albeit terrible and abusive mistress. The sound of the tent being ripped behind her, and the terror she felt when an unknown hand pulled her out, only to discover it was Dara. She escaped with him, befriended the elf, something she’d never even let herself wonder about before. She told him her name is Ciri, and they stayed in the woods together before Ciri crossed the treacherous icy open space and entered the Dryad’s forest. She almost stayed there, she could’ve loved it there. But a doppler wearing the guise of Mousesack lured her away, with his false kindness and familiarity he tricked her and tried to take her back to Nilfgaard. Dara helped her escape and left her afterward, she was dangerous and not yet smart enough to keep herself safe. She wasn’t hardened enough to spot the risks. She slowly made it to this small, mucky town. She stole an ear of corn, traded her mother’s ring for new gloves, and was ready to steal a horse before she ran into Jaskier. She was running out of options, and she was so, so terrified about what would happen if she let herself be found by Nilfgaard. After Cirilla was finished letting out all the feelings and memories she’s alone held onto for so long Jaskier’s heart aches for the child, she’s so young and has faced many traumas so great they would’ve ruined any normal man. But she is not normal, she is the Lion Cub of Cintra, and Jaskier knew all too well that she was destined for so much more than fear and hiding.

With a sigh, he tells her,” Well, now I’ve got to do something that I really didn’t want to do.”

She wipes her eyes and gives him only a confused look before he continues,” Destiny hath made me her bitch, and I must get you to your witcher”

Her eyes widened,” You also know Geralt of Rivia?”

“Yes, I do” he began,” And my, my, he’s such a dick,” he says, earning a small giggle from her. 

She had a beautiful, bright laugh, he presumed she hasn’t used it at all in the past few days. It was pitiful, a child should live every day with smiles, and giggles, and in carefree adventure, and Jaskier swore to himself and to all the gods above, that he would spend the rest of his life making her smile until her cheeks hurt and laugh until her stomach ached. 


End file.
